Gwen

Mythal, Hodgepodge

Central square

---

The flapping of her own wings was muffled by the thick travel cloak, but Gwen could still feel them pressed awkwardly against her spine, folded tight. The fabric itched. The horns, unfortunately, were harder to hide, so she’d simply let go hoping that at least cloak might make her look like just another eccentric traveler. It was a flimsy plan, and she knew it.

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind as she walked. Start in Hodgepodge. They’re used to strangeness there. Used to it. Not necessarily welcoming, but used to it.

The cobblestones beneath her boots were worn smooth by countless feet, a stark contrast to the unyielding rock of the mountain path. The air itself was different here, thick with the competing smells of frying fish, exotic spices, unwashed bodies, and the ever-present brine of the sea. It was a heady, overwhelming assault on senses sharpened by a lifetime of crisp, thin mountain air.

Then she reached the central square and stopped dead.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She had seen the world from above, a sprawling tapestry of green and gold from her mother's cave. But this... this was different. This was a living, breathing organism of stone and flesh. People, hundreds of them, thousands, swarmed like ants in a disturbed nest. They flowed in rivers between stalls draped in fabrics of every color imaginable, coalesced in shouting crowds around performers and merchants, and disappeared into buildings that stretched far taller than any tree she’d ever seen.

A cart rumbled past, close enough to ruffle her cloak, and she stumbled back with a small, startled sound. Her tail, hidden beneath the heavy wool, thumped anxiously against her calf. Her wings twitched, a reflexive urge to unfurl, to escape the sudden, crushing pressure of the crowd, of the walls, of the sheer noise. She pressed her arms tighter against her sides to still them.

A child, tugging at its mother’s sleeve, pointed directly at her. The mother’s gaze followed, lingering on her horns, her too-bright orange eyes, before she quickly ushered the child away. Another glance, from a merchant stacking crates, held simple, tired curiosity before he returned to his work. Used to it, perhaps. But not welcoming.

Gwen stood frozen on the edge of the chaos, a splash of cobalt and hidden orange in a sea of humanity. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against her mother's warnings. Her eyes, wide and luminous, darted from a towering sailor with a beard like steel wool to a stall glittering with polished gems, then to a sign swinging above a doorway. The world she had only ever dreamed of was right here, roaring and teeming and impossibly vast, and she didn't have the faintest idea where to begin

Mythal, Hodgepodge

Hodgepodge Adventurers' Guild

---

The heavy oak door of the Hodgepodge Adventurers' Guild creaked shut behind her, muffling the chaotic symphony of the market square but replacing it with a new kind of noise. The clamor of voices, the clink of tankards, the scrape of chairs against wooden floors—it all washed over her in a wave. The air inside was warm and thick with the scent of old ale, sweat, polished steel, and the peculiar mustiness of old parchment.

Gwen stood just inside the threshold, suddenly acutely aware of every inch of her body. Her wings, still trapped beneath her cloak, pressed against the fabric like caged birds. Her tail, which she'd managed to keep relatively still for most of the morning, gave an anxious twitch, thumping softly against the back of her own calf. She could feel eyes on her. Not the quick, furtive glances of the street, but longer, more appraising stares. A group of rough-looking men in leather armor paused mid-conversation near a crackling hearth. A woman with sharp ears and sharper eyes looked up from sharpening a dagger. Gwen's wings twitched again.

Don't stare back. Don't stare back. She fixed her gaze on the high counter at the far end of the room, the one she'd spotted through the crowd of tables and bodies. A woman stood behind it, leaning with practiced ease on her elbows, observing the chaos with the patient expression of someone who had seen absolutely everything.

Gwen wove through the tables, her lanky limbs feeling clumsier than usual. She narrowly avoided knocking a mug from a table with a wayward elbow, muttered a hurried apology to a glare she didn't quite meet, and finally reached the relative safety of the reception desk.

The woman behind it was a desert elf. Her eyes, a warm amber, swept over Gwen with an efficiency that felt almost physical. They lingered, just for a moment, on the subtle bulge of her wings beneath the cloak, then rose to meet Gwen's gaze. A slow, knowing smile played on her lips.

"New face," the woman said, her voice a low, pleasant hum. "And a tall one at that. What brings you to our little den of chaos?" She tilted her head, a silver earring catching the firelight. "Lost? Bored? Looking to make some coin and possibly a few very bad decisions?"

Gwen swallowed, her throat dry. "I... I want to become an adventurer," she managed, the words tumbling out a bit too fast.

The woman's smile widened, becoming genuinely amused. "Straight to the point. I like that." She straightened, pulling a thick, leather-bound ledger from beneath the counter and flipping it open. "Name?"

"Gwenyvere. But... Gwen. Just Gwen, please."

"Gwen," the elf repeated, her quill scratching across the page. "And what brings a sheltered-looking thing like you to Hodgepodge, Gwen? Looking for fame? Fortune? A dramatic death in the jaws of a jungle beast?"

"Just... to see the world. To meet people. To learn things." Gwen's fingers gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening slightly. "My mother said this was the best place to start."

"Your mother sounds wise." The elf's eyes sparkled. "Alright, Gwen-who-wants-to-see-the-world. I need a bit more for the ledger. Skills? Weapons you favor? And," she paused, her quill hovering, "race, for the official record."

Gwen's mouth went dry. Her mother's warnings echoed again, sharp and clear. They will see you as a curiosity at best, a weapon at worst. She hesitated, her tail giving another betraying thump. The elf waited, patient, her expression giving nothing away.

"Dragonborn," Gwen said quietly, the word barely louder than the ambient noise of the hall.

The elf's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. "Full?"

"Daughter of a true dragon. And a human man." The admission felt like shedding a layer of skin. For a moment, there was only the scratch of the quill as the elf noted it down. Then, a sharp gasp from behind Gwen shattered the fragile bubble of their conversation. "A real dragonborn?"

Gwen turned to find a young man, barely older than she appeared, with wide eyes and a mouth hanging open in undisguised awe. He was half-turned in his chair, a tankard frozen halfway to his lips. "Scales and everything?" Another adventurer, a stocky dwarf with a magnificent braided beard, pushed back from his table, his eyes scanning her with open fascination. "Where are they? Under the cloak?"

Before Gwen could formulate a response, the first man was on his feet and weaving toward her, his companions—a motley crew of two humans and a half-orc—trailing behind him with expressions ranging from curiosity to naked avarice.

"You have to join our party," the young man declared, stopping just a little too close. His eyes were bright with excitement. "We're exploring the Verdant Maw fringes next week. A dragonborn's strength would be invaluable! We could take on bigger contracts, better pay—"

"Now, hold on there, boy." The dwarf elbowed his way forward, planting himself firmly between Gwen and the young man. "Don't go claim-jumping. Our crew's been looking for a fourth for a month. A dragonborn with wings," he added, his eyes flicking knowingly to the bulge beneath her cloak, "would be a damn sight more useful than a pack of green pups who'll get themselves eaten by the first vine-lurker they meet."

The half-orc behind the young man rumbled something unintelligible but clearly disagreeable.

Gwen stood frozen, caught between them, her head swiveling from one eager face to another. Her wings, responding to her flustered state, gave an involuntary flutter beneath the cloak, causing the fabric to billow slightly. Several people nearby gasped or pointed.

Behind the counter, the desert elf leaned on her elbows once more, watching the unfolding spectacle with undisguised amusement. She caught Gwen's panicked gaze and gave a small, slow wink. "Welcome to the guild. You wanted to meet people."

Mythal, The Verdant Maw Jungles

Western Trade Route

---

The jungle air was thick enough to drink, heavy with the scent of rot and blossom and things that squelched beneath booted feet. Gwen had been walking for three days with the caravan, a chain of covered wagons loaded with spices, textiles, and the peculiar carved artifacts that Hodgepodge's craftsmen seemed to favor. The Verdant Maw lived up to its name—a relentless tangle of green that pressed in from all sides, filled with sounds she couldn't identify and shadows that moved when they shouldn't.

She'd made a point of staying near the middle of the column, her wings folded tight beneath her cloak despite the oppressive humidity. The caravan master, a weathered human named Garret who smelled of pipe smoke and cynicism, had raised an eyebrow at her hood but asked no questions. Adventurers came in all shapes. He'd learned not to pry.

The attack came without warning.

One moment, the path ahead was empty save for dappled sunlight and buzzing insects. The next, the jungle erupted. Screaming figures poured from the undergrowth—goblins, small and sinewy with crude blades, and behind them, the hulking shapes of orcs, their tusked faces painted with streaks of red and white. A rock flew from somewhere in the green, bouncing off a wagon with a hollow thunk.

Horses reared. Men shouted. Garret's voice cut through the chaos, bellowing orders that were swallowed by the sudden roar of combat.

Gwen's body moved before her mind caught up.

Her cloak hit the ground in a puddle of wool. Her wings unfurled with a sound like snapping sails, catching the humid air and lifting her from the churned mud of the path in three powerful beats. She heard gasps below, human and otherwise, but she was already climbing, the jungle canopy rushing past as she cleared the trees and angled back down.

She hit the ground in the precise center of the attacking force, her boots sinking into soft earth, her wings folding against her back with practiced ease. Her hand found the hilt of her sword, the familiar weight of it sliding from the sheath at her hip. She rose to her full height, her orange eyes blazing, her tail lashing behind her, and opened her mouth to issue the kind of terrifying ultimatum her mother had taught her—something about surrender, about the fire in her blood, about the fate that awaited those who threatened peaceful travelers.

The words died in her throat.

The goblins had stopped.

All of them. A dozen small, green-skinned creatures had simply... frozen. Their crude weapons dangled from limp fingers. Their wide, yellow eyes were fixed on her with an expression she couldn't read. One by one, with the rustle of leather and bone, they dropped to their knees in the mud.

Behind them, the orcs hesitated. One took a step back. Another grunted something in a guttural tongue. Then a figure pushed through their ranks—an ancient goblin, smaller than the others, bent nearly double under the weight of a staff strung with feathers and tiny skulls. His milky eyes found Gwen's face, traveled up to her horns, her wings, the scales glinting faintly on her forearms.

He began to tremble.

"Aki'la," he whispered, his voice a rasping breath that carried in the sudden silence. "Aki'la tanna kor." He raised his staff high, then prostrated himself, pressing his forehead into the mud. The other goblins followed, a wave of green bodies bowing before her.

One of the orcs dropped his axe. Then another. Soon, they too were on their knees, their brutish faces turned upward with something that looked terrifyingly like reverence.

The goblin shaman raised his head, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his wrinkled face. "The winged one," he croaked, his common tongue thick and fractured. "The ancient lizard of the deep woods. The burning sky mother. The old stories say you would return when the leaves weep blood. We have waited. We have waited."

Gwen stood frozen, her sword still half-raised, her mouth hanging open. Her wings, which had been spread in menace, now drooped in utter bewilderment. Her tail gave a confused flick behind her, splattering mud on a kneeling goblin who thanked her for it.

"I... no," she managed. "No, you've made a mistake. I'm not—I'm just—I'm Gwen. I'm a person. I'm travelling."

The shaman's milky eyes widened with what looked like adoration. "Gwennn," he breathed, drawing the name out like a sacred syllable. "The sky mother speaks her true name. We are blessed. We are blessed."

Behind her, someone from the caravan laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound that cut through the surreal scene. Gwen turned her head just enough to see Garret standing by his wagon, his weathered face a masterpiece of confusion. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. One of the other adventurers, a human woman with a scar across her cheek, had lowered her sword and was staring at Gwen with an expression that hovered somewhere between awe and hilarity.

Another goblin crawled forward and began pressing small, misshapen gems into the mud at Gwen's feet. Offerings. Offerings.

Gwen looked down at them, then at the sea of bowed heads before her, then back at the utterly dumbfounded faces of the people she was supposed to be protecting.

Her wings gave an involuntary flutter of distress.

"This is... this is a misunderstanding," she tried again, her voice coming out higher than usual. "I'm not a goddess. I'm just dragonborn. My mother is a bronze dragon named Kastoria. She lives in a cave. She nags me about eating properly and she is not a goddess either."

The shaman nodded sagely, as if this confirmed something profound. "The great bronze one. The sky mother's mother. The grandmother of scales. We will add her to our prayers."

Gwen opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Behind her came the muffled laughter of the adventurers, who were doubled over, wheezing and laughing.

Mythal, Silverhaven

Silverhaven Adventurer’s Guild

---

The Silverhaven branch of the Adventurers' Guild was, as everything in this kingdom seemed to be, larger. Vaster. Gwen stood just inside the entrance, her neck craning upward at the vaulted ceilings, the sweeping staircases that curved along stone walls, the enormous chandelier fashioned from interlocked antlers and enchanted crystals that cast a warm, steady glow over the bustling hall below.

It was busier than Hodgepodge, but different. Quieter. The chaos here was organized, purposeful. Adventurers moved with intention rather than urgency. Tables were filled with quiet conversations instead of raucous arguments. The clink of coins and the scratch of quills provided a steady rhythm beneath it all.

Gwen pulled her cloak tighter, a habit she'd developed over weeks of travel. The wings beneath it had grown more accustomed to confinement, though they still protested with an occasional twitch. Her tail, wrapped discreetly around her hip beneath the fabric, had become better at staying still. She was learning.

The reception desk stretched across the far wall, a magnificent thing of polished dark wood manned by a small army of clerks in neat uniforms. Gwen joined the shortest line, waiting her turn with the patience of someone who had learned that rushing only led to knocked-over displays and startled looks.

When she reached the front, the clerk—a young woman with spectacles perched on her nose and ink stains on her fingers—offered a professional smile. "Welcome to the Silverhaven Adventurers' Guild. How can I help you today?"

"I'd like to register," Gwen said, sliding a worn leather card across the counter. The D-Rank insignia was still crisp, the edges only slightly softened from time in her pocket. "I'm transferring from Hodgepodge."

The clerk took the card, turning it over with efficient curiosity. Her eyes flicked up to Gwen's face, taking in the bright orange eyes and horns. If she found them remarkable, her expression didn't show it. "Of course. This will just take a moment. We'll need to issue you a Silverhaven credential and update our records." She began move papers around and write something.

"Gwenyvere," the clerk said. "Dragonborn, correct? From the Hodgepodge notation?"

Gwen blinked. "Yes. That's right."

The clerk nodded, utterly unruffled. "Lovely. We don't have as many dragonborn here as Hodgepodge, but we see plenty of varied races. You'll fit right in. Just give me one moment to process the transfer, and we'll have your new credential ready."

Gwen felt something loosen in her chest. Fit right in. What a novel concept.

She turned slightly, leaning against the counter while she waited, and let her gaze wander across the hall. It really was impressive. Adventurers of every description occupied the space—humans in polished plate, elves in flowing robes, dwarves arguing over maps, a minotaur sipping tea from a comically small cup. The sheer normalcy of it made her tail want to wag, though she caught it before it could.

Then she heard the footsteps. Fast ones. Approaching with the kind of urgency that usually preceded something falling or someone screaming.

"OH MY GOSH IS THAT A DRAGONBORN?" Gwen's head whipped around just in time to register two figures bearing down on her like colorful missiles. One had light brown hair and green eyes, her fox ears perked forward with keen interest. The other was all fiery red hair and blazing crimson eyes, her twin fox ears twitching with barely contained excitement. Both had fluffy tails swishing behind them in identical patterns of delight.

Before Gwen could formulate a response, they were there. Right there. "I'm Sasha!" the green-eyed one announced, bouncing on her heels. "Sasha Burnigoak. I'm a mentor here, I help new adventurers, and I have never actually met a real dragonborn before, like, in person, oh wow, your eyes are incredible, are those slit pupils? They're slit pupils! Mizuki, look at her pupils!"

"I'm looking!" the red-eyed one—Mizuki—confirmed, circling Gwen with the intense focus of a scholar examining a rare manuscript. "And the scales! On her arms! Sasha, look at the scales, they're so pretty, they catch the light, do they feel like regular scales? Can I touch? Is that rude? It's probably rude."

"Super rude," Sasha agreed cheerfully, "but also I really want to know. And your wings! You have wings! Are they under the cloak? Can we see? Oh, oh, where did you come from? Hodgepodge? We heard there are dragonborn there but we've never been. What's it like? Is it true the markets are open all night? Do you breathe fire? Can you fly? How far can you fly? Do you get tired? What's your rank? Are you new? Do you need help? We can help! We're great at helping!"

Gwen's head swam. Her wings, responding to her flustered state, gave an involuntary flutter beneath her cloak, making the fabric billow. Both fox girls gasped in unison.

"Did you see that?!" Mizuki grabbed Sasha's arm. "They moved! They moved on their own!"

"Of course they moved on their own, they're attached to her!" Sasha's tail was wagging so hard it was practically a blur. "This is the best day. This is literally the best day. Mizuki, we're making a new friend. We're making a dragonborn friend."

Gwen opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled somewhere between her brain and her tongue. Her eyes darted from one eager, smiling face to the other, both of them radiating such pure, unfiltered enthusiasm that she felt like she was standing in the sun. Her tail, forgotten in her distress, escaped its confinement and thumped nervously against the counter.

Behind the counter, the clerk continued her work with the serene detachment of someone who had witnessed many such encounters and learned to simply wait them out.

Gwen's panicked gaze swept the hall, looking for an anchor, something familiar, something calm. And then, across the room, she found it.

A figure sitting alone at a table near the window. Relaxed posture. Expression unreadable but not unfriendly. The only person in the entire hall who wasn't staring at her, who wasn't rushing toward her, who simply sat there with the quiet stillness of someone completely at ease with the world.

Their eyes met across the crowded room.

Gwen had no idea who they were. But in that moment, surrounded by bouncing fox girls and overwhelming enthusiasm, they looked like the only stable thing in an otherwise spinning world.

Mythal, The Northern Lands, Brookbridge

Central Square of Brookbridge

---

The northern air bit at Gwen's cheeks as she flew, a sharp contrast to the relative mildness of Silverhaven. The landscape below had shifted from rolling hills to sparse woodland to something approaching tundra, all grey skies and hardy evergreens dusted with the season's first snow. Her wings ached pleasantly with the exertion; it had been too long since she'd truly stretched them.

Fairhaven's guild hall had been frantic when she arrived. A messenger had come in the night—a small town called Stone's Rest, three days north, was under attack. Something terrible. Something that had already killed half the militia. They needed help immediately. Any adventurers, any at all.

Gwen had tried to ask questions. What kind of creature? How many? What had the survivors reported? But the guild clerk, a harried woman with dark circles under her eyes, had simply thrust a map into her hands and told her there were already higher-ranked adventurers on the way. Gwen's role was simply to assist. To support. To get there as fast as possible and help however she could.

Now, as she circled lower, she could see it. A cluster of wooden buildings huddled against the base of a grey mountain, surrounded by a palisade that had seen better centuries. Smoke rose from chimneys. People moved in the streets. It looked... peaceful. Untouched. No signs of destruction, no burned buildings, no scattered bodies.

Strange, Gwen thought, angling downward. Maybe the monster hasn't arrived yet. Maybe I'm early.

Her boots touched down in the center of the village square, a modest expanse of packed earth surrounded by a well, a blacksmith's forge, and what appeared to be a tavern with aggressively cheerful flower boxes under its windows. Her wings folded against her back with a soft rustle of leathery membrane. She straightened, brushed a strand of cobalt hair from her face, and looked around for someone to explain the situation to.

The square was not empty.

A woman carrying a basket of vegetables had frozen mid-stride. A pair of children playing with a wooden sword had stopped, their mouths forming perfect little 'o's of surprise. An old man mending a fence had gone still, his hammer hovering in the air.

For one breathless moment, no one moved. Then the woman screamed. "DRAGON!"

The basket hit the ground. Vegetables rolled everywhere. The children bolted, their wooden sword forgotten in the dust. The old man dropped his hammer and stumbled backward, his weathered face draining of color.

"It's here! The dragon is here!" someone else shrieked from near the well.

Doors slammed open. People poured from buildings, took one look at Gwen, and fled in the opposite direction. A mother snatched up a toddler and disappeared into an alley. A farmer dropped his pitchfork and ran for the palisade gates. Within seconds, the square was a chaos of screaming, scrambling humanity, all flowing away from her like water from a stone.

Gwen stood frozen in the center of it all, her wings drooping in confusion, her tail curling anxiously around her ankle.

"Wait!" she called, her voice cutting through the panic. "No, you don't understand—I'm not—I'm here to help!"

A man hurled a chamber pot from an upstairs window. It shattered against the ground near her feet, narrowly missing her tail.

"I'm not a dragon!" Gwen tried again, her voice climbing higher. "I'm dragonborn! There's a difference! A significant difference! I'm only half dragon! The half that doesn't burn villages and eat livestock!"

More screaming. More running. Someone rang a bell somewhere, a frantic clanging that only added to the chaos.

Gwen's wings gave a distressed flutter, and the crowd screamed louder. Of course. Of course they did. From a distance, with her wings spread and her horns silhouetted against the grey sky, she probably looked exactly like what they feared. A smaller dragon, maybe, but a dragon nonetheless.

"I'm not the monster!" she shouted desperately at a fleeing baker. "I'm here to kill the monster! The real monster! The other one!"

Gwen dropped her face into her hands and groaned. Her tail thumped miserably against the packed earth. This was not how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to land, find the other adventurers, coordinate a plan, and heroically save the day. Not terrify the very people she'd come to rescue.

Across the square, emerging from the shadow of the tavern with its cheerful flower boxes, a figure stepped into the light. They moved with the deliberate calm of someone who had seen battle before, who had faced monsters and lived, who was not easily startled by dragons—or things that looked like dragons. Their posture shifted, weight settling into a combat stance. A weapon appeared in their hand—Gwen didn't register what kind, only that it was there and clearly meant for her.

Her eyes went wide. "Wait!" she called out, raising her empty hands, her sword still safely sheathed at her hip. "Please wait! I'm not the dragon you're looking for! I'm an adventurer! I'm D-Rank! I have a card and everything!"

Behind her, somewhere in the maze of fleeing villagers, a child's voice rose above the noise: "Mama, the dragon lady looks sad!"

Gwen's expression crumpled slightly.

"I am sad," she muttered under her breath. "I'm very sad. This is the saddest I've been since I knocked over that merchant's entire spice display and he made me pay for it."

Eastern Islands, Mizuho

Hazaragi Hot Springs

---

The water was perfect.

Gwen had heard about Mizuho's famous hot springs since she first set foot in Hodgepodge, whispered tales of volcanic warmth and mineral-rich waters that could soothe muscles and mend spirits. She hadn't quite believed it until now, until she was submerged up to her chin in the steamy embrace of a private outdoor bath, the cool evening air kissing her face while the rest of her simmered in liquid warmth.

The innkeeper had been kind enough to explain the customs. The washing before entering. The small towel for modesty, though apparently modesty worked differently here than on the mainland. The reservation system for private baths—Gwen had booked this one for two hours, enough time to truly soak away the exhaustion of travel and the strange newness of this island nation.

She was alone. Blissfully, wonderfully alone.

Her wings floated behind her in the water, the membranes fully relaxed for the first time in weeks. Her tail drifted lazily near the surface, occasionally twitching when a particularly pleasant wave of heat washed over it. The orange scales on her forearms and thighs caught the light of the paper lanterns strung along the bath's wooden perimeter, glinting softly through the rising steam.

The cheongsam-style yukata she'd bought from a market stall hung on a nearby hook, a practical choice given how her wings complicated traditional wrap-around garments. The innkeeper had only blinked once when she'd explained, then produced this option from a back room with a knowing nod. Mizuho, she was learning, was good at accommodating the unusual.

Her eyes drifted closed. The sounds of evening surrounded her—distant music from somewhere in the village below, the rustle of wind through bamboo, the gentle lapping of water against the stone edge of the bath. For the first time since leaving her mother's cave, Gwen felt something approaching perfect peace.

This, she thought, this is what I came for.

Footsteps.

Gwen's eyes snapped open. Her ears, attuned by dragon blood to the slightest sound, had caught them immediately—soft footfalls on the wooden decking that surrounded the bath, approaching from behind. Her wings tensed, water sliding from their surface as they pulled slightly closer to her body. Her tail stilled in the water.

She turned.

A figure stood at the edge of the pool, silhouetted against the lantern light. A person. A person who was here, in her private bath, looking at her.

Gwen's brain, so relaxed moments ago, ground to a halt.

Her wings gave an involuntary flutter, splashing water behind her. Her tail thrashed once, sending a small wave across the pool's surface. She was sitting, mostly submerged, but the water was clear—crystal clear, the kind of clear that meant absolutely nothing was hidden—and this person could probably see everything. The scales on her shoulders. The way her wings attached to her back. The curve of her spine as she half-turned to face them.

"Oh," she managed, her voice emerging as a strangled squeak. "Oh, I—this is—I reserved this bath. For myself. Privately. I paid extra for the private reservation. The innkeeper, she—she said it would be private, that no one would—"

The words tumbled out in a rush, each one higher than the last. Her cheeks burned, the heat having nothing to do with the spring water. The flush started somewhere in her chest and climbed steadily upward, creeping across her collarbones, up her throat, finally settling in her face with an intensity that probably made her orange eyes look even brighter by contrast.

"Maybe you have the wrong bath?" she tried, her voice cracking slightly on the last word. "The wrong time? The innkeeper said this one was reserved for me, for two hours, and I've only been here for—" she had no idea how long she'd been here, time had stopped making sense when the footsteps approached "—not very long. So if you check with the innkeeper, I'm sure she'll—"

The blush had reached the tips of her ears now. Her horns, at least, couldn't blush. Small mercies.

"I'm sorry," she added, because her mother had raised her to be polite even in mortifying situations. "If this is—if I'm in your bath somehow. But I don't think I am. I'm pretty sure I'm not. I triple-checked with the innkeeper because I really wanted to be alone and I'm not used to—" she gestured vaguely at herself, at her wings, at the general state of existing in her body "—all of this in public places."

A small, helpless sound escaped her throat. Her wings fluttered again. "I'm Gwen, by the way. Not that—not that this is a good time for introductions. This is a terrible time for introductions. I'm going to stop talking now."

She did not stop talking.

"I mean I'm going to stop talking soon. After I say that I really would appreciate it if you could maybe turn around? Or leave? Or—or something that isn't standing there looking at me while I'm—while I'm like this?"

Her tail gave an emphatic thump against the water, betraying her embarrassment with a small splash.

Mythal, Floating Islands

Dragon Ruins

---

The Floating Island rose from the clouds like a dream given form.

Gwen had circled it three times before landing, unable to quite believe what she was seeing. Ancient dragon ruins, yes—her mother had described them often enough. Pillars of white stone carved with scenes of dragons and mortals intertwined. Terraces spilling over with exotic plants that shouldn't bloom at this altitude. Buildings that defied architectural logic, curving and spiraling in ways that made her eyes hurt if she looked too long.

But the descriptions hadn't included the decorations. Garlands of shimmering fabric in every color imaginable draped between pillars. Floating lanterns drifting lazily through the air, their lights pulsing in soft rhythms. Tables laden with food and drink that gleamed like jewels under the perpetual twilight of the island's enchanted sky.

And the dragons. So many dragons. Not in their true forms—the island wouldn't hold that many mountains of scaled flesh—but in their human shapes. They moved through the ruins like living art, draped in silks and velvets, adorned with gold and gems that caught every available light. Their eyes gave them away, of course. Too bright, too aware, pupils that sometimes flickered to something else before settling back into human shapes. But otherwise, they looked like the most elegant, most impossibly beautiful people Gwen had ever seen.

She tugged at the strap of her dress. She'd tried. She'd really tried. The deep blue fabric was new, purchased from a merchant in Mizuho who specialized in garments for those with "unusual physiques." It left room for her wings, accommodated her tail, and didn't pull across her shoulders. She'd thought it looked rather nice in the shop.

Now, surrounded by dragons in what was probably more wealth than her mother's entire hoard, she felt like a child playing dress-up.

Kobolds scurried past her feet, dozens of them, carrying trays and linens and mysterious objects wrapped in cloth. She scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Her mother had said she would be here. Had insisted she come, actually, once Gwen's travels had brought her close enough to the island. A century-gathering of dragons, her mother's letter had said. An important event. You should attend. I will be attending. It's time you met more of our kind.

Our kind. Gwen still wasn't sure she qualified.

Her mother stood near a fountain that flowed with something that looked like liquid silver, speaking with a group of dragons. Kastoria was in her preferred human shape—tall, imposing, with bronze hair and eyes the color of aged copper. Her gown was the color of sunset, embroidered with threads that actually glowed.

As if sensing her daughter's gaze, Kastoria turned. Her face transformed. The cool, regal expression melted into something warm and genuine, something that belonged to the cave in the mountains, not this place of ancient power and politics. She murmured something to her companions and began moving toward Gwen, her strides eating up the distance with the fluid grace of a creature who had never quite forgotten how to fly.

"My little treasure," Kastoria breathed, reaching Gwen and pulling her into an embrace that smelled of home. Of mountain winds and polished bronze and the particular scent of a mother who had watched over you for decades.

Gwen melted into it. Her wings relaxed. Her tail, which had been wound so tight it ached, loosened and gave a happy little wag behind her.

"Mother," she said, her voice muffled against Kastoria's shoulder. "I've missed you. There's so much to tell you—you wouldn't believe the things I've seen. The people I've met. I was mistaken for a goddess by goblins, Mother. Goblins. And there was this bathhouse in Mizuho, and a person walked in while I was—"

Kastoria's laugh rumbled through her chest, a sound Gwen had known her entire life. She pulled back, keeping her hands on Gwen's shoulders, and looked at her daughter with eyes that held centuries of wisdom and no small amount of amusement.

"All in good time, my precious one," she said. "We have the rest of the century to catch up. Tonight, you're not here to debrief your mother on every adventure." Her copper eyes sparkled. "Tonight, you're here to enjoy yourself. To eat food you've never tasted, listen to music older than most kingdoms, and perhaps—" she paused, her smile taking on a knowing quality "—meet someone interesting."

Gwen blinked. "Meet someone?"

"You're a grown woman, Gwenyvere." Kastoria's voice was gentle but firm. "Mature. Adult. And unless my eyes deceive me, still completely inexperienced in certain... areas of life."

The blush that climbed Gwen's neck was instantaneous and fierce. "Mother."

"I'm not criticizing," Kastoria continued, utterly unbothered by her daughter's mortification. "I'm simply observing that you've spent a year traveling the world, facing monsters, making friends, and presumably having adventures. But when I asked if you'd met anyone special in your letters, you always changed the subject."

Gwen's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"That's what I thought." Kastoria patted her cheek fondly. "So tonight, no mother-daughter catch-up. Tonight, you eat, you drink, you let some handsome dragon or dragonborn or even a particularly interesting human buy you a drink and pay you compliments. Tomorrow, we'll talk about goblins and bathhouses."

"Mother, I don't think—"

"You never do, darling. That's part of your charm." Kastoria stepped back, giving Gwen a long, appraising look. "You look beautiful, by the way. The blue suits you. Now go. Mingle. Let an old dragon watch her daughter spread her wings in a different way for once."

She was gone before Gwen could protest further, melting back into the crowd of elegant, ancient beings with the ease of someone who had attended a hundred such gatherings.

Gwen stood frozen by the pillar, her blush still blazing, her wings giving little flutters of pure panic. Around her, the party continued. Dragons laughed and conversed and sipped drinks that probably cost more than most human kingdoms. A kobold offered her a tray of glittering something-or-others. Somewhere, music began to play—a haunting melody on instruments she didn't recognize.

She was completely, utterly out of her depth.

Her eyes swept the crowd, looking for anything familiar, anything safe, anything that might anchor her in this sea of ancient power and impossible elegance.

And then, across the terrace, she saw someone.